Yet as he stood there with downcast head, as a devout peasant might have done before the altar, he saw Felicita make a slight but imperious sign to him to advance.

She did not take a step toward him, but leaning against the altar rails she waited till he was near to her, within hearing.

There Roland paused.
"Felicita," he said, not daring to draw closer to her.
"I am here," she answered, not looking toward him; her large, dark, mournful eyes lifted up to the cross above the altar, before which a lamp was burning, whose light was reflected in her unshed tears.
Neither of them spoke again for a while.

It seemed as if there could be nothing said, so great was the anguish of them both.

The man who had just died had passed away tranquilly, but they were drinking of a cup more bitter than death.